


kickstart my heart

by hoppnhorn



Series: Harringrove Bits & Pieces [17]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Feeding, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slightly dubcon at times, Vampire Steve Harrington, Werewolf Billy Hargrove, mentions of eating disorders, typical monster violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: He can tell, it’s hard tomiss, that there’s something else that comes along with feeding. For vampires anyway. His feeding is something different entirely. Far less neat and more along the lines of little red riding hood. Only he usually finds a deer or some animal to ravage instead of a poor kid.He’snicelike that.But vampire feeding is something of a daily need, not a monthly burden. Something desperate andhungry.And sex is at the heart of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uncaringerinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncaringerinn/gifts).



> based on [a prompt on tumblr](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com/post/180485040033/youve-done-werewolfbilly-lemme-pick-your-brain) sent to me by @uncaringerinn  
> I might continue this if I can think up something. i dunno. enjoy!

He’s not a huge fan of being bitten, if he’s perfectly honest. It’s not a pleasant experience, contrary to all the vampire porn all over the goddamn globe. Billy read a book once, some god awful thing, where a vampire fed purely to please his partner.

Which is just _crap_.

As someone who actually _knows_ , Billy is tempted to send the author a note. Something along the lines of _I call bullshit_.

It doesn’t hurt _that_ bad. But it’s definitely not orgasm-inducing, even if it is sometimes the highlight of his day.

Yeah, because it’s a _thing_ now, scheduled at a regular time like it’s his afternoon piano lesson. His watch goes off at four thirty and he finds his way over the Harrington house.

And then Steve Harrington feeds from him.

It’s a bizarre situation all around.

Steve Harrington: vampire.

Baby vampire, really. A newborn with no fucking _clue_ and an appetite the size of the Eiffel Tower. Billy thanks his lucky stars that he was the first person to run into Steve after his little tango with death. Because the guy would have drained the mailman without even blinking an eye.

That and Billy is now his confidant. His personal Red Cross, making house calls and everything. And he’s the only one who could do this too, which is even luckier.

Being a werewolf has its perks afterall.

His healing ability matched with Steve’s thirst is sort of a perfect balance. An equilibrium in the paranormally fucked universe. Steve feeds from him. Billy heals within minutes. The world doesn’t have a starving vampire running around like a rabid animal.

Even though, frankly, Billy wonders if he’s enough sometimes.

Steve is _strong_. Stronger than he ever was as a human being even though like, that’s not saying much. But now? Now he’s stronger than Billy, probably. The way his muscles seem to fill out when he’s feeding, the way his shoulders roll as Billy stares down at him.

Yeah, he’s a lean guy but he’s fucking _cut_.

And he only seems to get more powerful every time Billy looks at him. Or it could be a side effect of feeding him werewolf blood.

Like maybe he’s something more than a monster.

But it all could be in his head, it’s very possible. There’s a lot in Billy’s head that didn’t used to be, like how soft Steve’s hair is and how Harrington has big pretty eyes.

Stupid shit that he blames on the bite. Even though it’s obviously _not_.

He’s wanted Steve Harrington at his throat for a long while now. At first in a very different sense, and now in a very literal one. But the guy doesn’t feed from his neck anymore, not after that first time. It’s too _intimate_. Too much like a kiss when Billy’s throat heals up and Steve’s lips linger.

So now they stick to the wrist. Like a transaction.

Billy puts on the tv, pretends to distract himself while Steve holds onto his forearm and bites.

It’s a lot like giving blood, except they don’t jab you with two needles. More than once sometimes.

That is mostly Billy’s fault though. His body wants to heal and the slow blood flow isn’t enough for Steve to feed quickly, so sometimes it slows to a stop altogether. And then he gives Billy a sort of sheepish smile like _sorry_ before he sinks his teeth in again. Jostles a little to keep the trickle going.

Which, yeah it’s not _great_ , but Billy doesn’t mind.

Not anymore.

It makes him feel useful, like he’s saving the town from something by sacrificing his wrist for a little while every afternoon.

Even though he could do more.

So much more.

He can tell, it’s hard to _miss_ , that there’s something else that comes along with feeding. For vampires anyway. His feeding is something different entirely. Far less neat and more along the lines of little red riding hood. Only he usually finds a deer or some animal to ravage instead of a poor kid.

He’s _nice_ like that.

But vampire feeding is something of a daily need, not a monthly burden. Something desperate and _hungry_.

And sex is at the heart of it.

Billy can feel it, the instinct for Steve to take blood from a vein while he takes his pleasure from a body. He tries not to think about that, tries not to imagine what a beast like that would _do_ to a person. Instead, he focuses on the way Steve clearly _hides_ it, feeding from him politely before he vanishes to the bathroom and leaves Billy to eat something. Pound some Gatorade. Then reappear like nothing is amiss. Like he’d simply needed a moment to collect himself.

When, really, Billy can smell the come. Can smell the _life_ oozing out of Steve’s pores from the blood in his belly. Like he’d sucked on a battery.

The urge to cross the boundary, to offer himself the way Steve clearly _needs_ , is getting harder to suppress. There’s no doubt in his mind anymore that Steve would take him up on it. That he would satiate a thirst in Billy as well, if he’d only _ask_. He sits silently and watches the guy’s cock plump up in his jeans while he pulls on Billy’s wrist and knows that one word would have that cock buried deep inside him.

Pleasuring him while Steve drains him dry.

It’s tempting, but it also feels like a freaking _lie_ , getting something he wants when Steve can’t help but give it to him. He has always been a selfish bastard, but even he can’t imagine using blood lust to trick Steve into something he clearly doesn’t want from Billy.

So he just watches and waits for Steve to pull away, wipe up his wrist and his mouth like he’s finished a hearty meal. Trained well by country clubs and fine restaurants.

“Thanks.” Steve always says.

Billy never feels right saying _you’re welcome_ so he settles for a casual, “Sure.” Before he pulls his arm away. The little punctures heal in a matter of moments, so small compared to the large holes they’d been at the start.

He catches a glimpse of Steve’s obvious erection before he’s walking away.

“There’s, um, meatloaf in the kitchen, if you want.” He says over his shoulder, no doubt itching to relieve the pressure in his pants. Billy’s mouth waters, but not because of freaking _meatloaf_.

He can _smell_ the arousal on the air, his body tingling in return, like call and respond. It’s hard for him to even pretend he’s not imagining Steve on top of him, fangs in his neck while he’s fucked senseless.

And like, yeah sometimes this happens. Sometimes, afterwards, it’s like Billy’s an open book and Steve only needs to glance in his direction to know what he’s thinking. What he’s _feeling_. Billy blames it on the hormones, or maybe the blood loss. He can’t really tell which would make him feel so empty when Steve leaves the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You want your dinner, Harrington?" Billy snaps at him, saliva flying as he swallows cold meat and his mouth waters for more. Steve's eyes go directly to Billy's throat, to the pulse that throbs beneath the surface. With a snort, Billy licks his lips, makes a show of it just to get Harrington's eyes back on his face. "Yeah, you're hungry aren't you?"
> 
> "Yeah." Steve answers softly, like he's in a trance. Billy's not _stupid_ , he can see the way the guy's top lip is suddenly puffy. But it's not his lip that's growing, it's the teeth beneath it, punching out of his gums from the desire to bite and feed and _consume._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more horny monsters. enjoy!

The full moon is not a joke. While it’s not like the movies, where a simple glance at the moon has him doubling over and ripping off his clothes, the full moon is an almost five day affair, reaching critical on day three before it peters out on day five. Until then, it feels a lot like a permanent bad attitude and homicidal tendencies. Instead of something cute like cramps and acne, Billy gets to grapple with uncontrollable hunger and so much anger he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Plus.

He’s hornier than a thirteen year old boy after discovering pornhub. Constantly hard, he’s frustrated and cranky and wants to bite the head off anything that gets in his way. He’s dialed to fifteen and can’t freaking  _ breathe _ without wanting to rip apart something with his hands. 

And he’s just about to his limit when he rolls up to Harrington’s house. 

It’s not like it’s his first full moon, but it’s his first full moon while on tap for the blood sucker. It’s also the first time he’s been like  _ this _ . He’s itchy and irritable and wants to get the whole thing over with the moment he raps his knuckle on the door.  

“Harrington! Open up!”

It really doesn’t help his mood when Harrington makes a show of stomping from where ever to the door as slowly as possible, like he  _ lives _ to make Billy miserable. He really does  _ drain _ the life out of him, so Billy thinks he deserves a  _ sliver _ of sympathy. 

But when the door finally opens and Steve blinks at him -- looking bored and disheveled like he’d been napping even though he doesn’t fucking  _ sleep _ \-- Billy gets a once over and then a snort.

“You look like hell.” 

“Get the fuck out of my way.” Billy knows he’s being rude, his mother raised him right for the few years she was alive. It’s not even his house but he bursts through the door and barrels towards the refrigerator, hoping that Harrington is holding up his end of the deal and keeping it stocked.

None of that stupid vegan shit Susan’s started filling their house with but the  _ bloody  _ shit his body craves. Like beef that costs more than a tank of gas. That’s what Billy gets out of this arrangement and he needs it in spades. 

That and a firm fucking, but he’s not there for that. 

He’s  _ definitely _ not. 

“It’s a wonder Dustin hasn’t caught onto you.” Steve is saying, the door closing with a dull click as he shuffles towards the kitchen. Billy can smell way too much in the place. He can smell the cleaning chemicals under the sink and the rancid turkey in one of the drawers in the fridge. He can tell that Steve has a ton of dirty laundry upstairs and the carpet hasn’t been vacuumed in  _ weeks _ . There’s fucking  _ popcorn  _ under the coffee table. “You look like you’re dying or high or something. Is this why you miss practice after school so often?”

Harrington yammers on in the background as Billy rips through the cling wrap on some ground sirloin, grabs at it with a bare hand and relishes the squish of it in his fingers before he shoves it into his mouth. 

It’s not  _ ideal _ but he’s running on empty and he has less than twelve hours before he goes full Lupin. He needs to  _ eat _ . 

“God,  _ gross _ . You’re gonna get—”

“You want your dinner, Harrington?” Billy snaps at him, saliva flying as he swallows cold meat and his mouth waters for more. Steve’s eyes go directly to Billy’s throat, to the pulse that throbs beneath the surface. With a snort, Billy licks his lips, makes a show of it just to get Harrington’s eyes back on his face. “Yeah, you’re hungry aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.” Steve answers softly, like he’s in a trance. Billy’s not  _ stupid _ , he can see the way the guy’s top lip is suddenly puffy. But it’s not his lip that’s growing, it’s the teeth beneath it, punching out of his gums from the desire to bite and feed and  _ consume. _

“Well you’re not getting shit until I eat something.” Billy snarls, smacking his hand back into the packaging to yank another handful loose. The trance breaks and Steve’s nose wrinkles as Billy stuffs his mouth, maintaining eye contact. 

“I’ll be in the living room.” Harrington finally mutters, stomping out of sight. “Wash your hands when you’re done.” 

Billy’s pretty sure the guy tacks on  _ asshole _ but he’s too preoccupied ripping the plastic off two fresh ribeyes to give a shit.

  
  


He feels like he’s packed to the gills when he finally leaves the kitchen, his stomach actually _bulging_ from all the food inside. It’s not like the sensation will last long, his metabolism is ridiculous and his body is running on overdrive, all systems set to max. It’s a wonder his skin hasn’t melted off with from the temperature. It’s late fall and he feels like he’s sweating through his t-shirt when he steps into the living room, sniffing out the walking _dead_ _thing_ he needs to feed.

It’s like having a pet. 

“Thought I was going to have to send search and rescue.”

A pet with a smart mouth. 

Steve sits slumped against the couch, watching something on the television with his phone two inches from his face. 

Texting probably. Like now that it’s his turn for food he’s going to make Billy  _ wait _ . Like he’s not eager. 

Which is  _ bullshit _ . 

“You gonna get up or you change your mind about dinner?” Billy snarks. 

He doesn’t even get to sit down before Steve is on him, fangs protruding and a hiss filling the room. It’s campy and stupid and Billy grunts with disinterest at the ridiculous display. Like  _ Harrington _ scares him. 

“The full moon makes you a real  _ bitch _ , Hargrove.” Steve growls, looming over him as Billy reclines in an overstuffed chair, patting his full belly. 

“What’s your excuse then?” He retorts, bored. It’s a cheap shot, but he’s over feeling  _ bad _ about his mood when he’s spent most of the day keeping himself in check. Holding the beast at bay. 

If there’s anyone in town that he can be himself around, it’s Harrington. And he’s doing the guy a favor, offering himself up like he is, at a time like  _ this _ . 

He’s doing the whole  _ goddamn  _ town a favor. 

Steve glares at him, waits. And like, maybe he would have grabbed Billy’s arm and helped himself after a moment, bypassing all the fuss of waiting for Billy to offer. But Billy doesn’t give him in the chance. 

He reaches up and swipes his hair out of the way, baring one side of his neck. 

Like that’s  _ normal _ . 

And Steve’s expression goes from pissed to disbelieving in moments. 

His mouth opens and closes a few times, like he doesn’t know how to ask the question without Billy immediately  _ revoking _ the unspoken invitation.

To feed from his throat. 

He’s not even sure why he does it. The experience isn’t  _ pleasant _ and he’s just about had it with Harrington in general but. 

There’s something about the way his body is humming, temporarily sated and easy, that has him offering. 

And Steve only hesitates for a moment before he leans in and breathes against Billy’s neck, no doubt sniffing out the artery running along the curve of his throat. Waiting for the bite is a lot like waiting for a shot at the doctor’s office or the prick of a needle at the blood bank. The anticipation is the worst part but the penetration is no picnic. 

But Steve’s bite is hard and fast and Billy’s thankful. Thankful that the groan of pleasure from Steve’s mouth drowns out the small gasp from Billy’s lips. 

It’s been a while since they’ve done  _ this _ and it feels forbidden. The fangs in his neck sting and the sucking on his throat feels far too erotic to be anything but  _ good _ and it’s not his  _ fault _ when his hands wind up on Steve’s waist. Or when he pulls the guy on top of him like it’s no big deal to have the guy  _ straddle _ him in the middle of dinner.

Sucking his blood as he rocks a hard dick against Billy’s stomach. 

It’s not  _ weird _ . 

It’s fucking  _ hot _ . 

It’s animal and hurts just shy of too much and Billy keens under Steve’s weight, lifting his hips to blindly seek more friction. Rocking, they aren’t just sitting. This isn’t a simple exchange of blood to satiate hunger and there’s nothing polite about the lewd motion of their hips, greedily rutting. 

Steve bites him three times, cutting through flesh with distinct strikes, each harder than the last. 

Billy ignores common sense and lets the guy pull on his vein until he sees  _ spots  _ because he just can’t bring himself to end the whole thing. He savors the burn in his balls from Harrington’s ass rubbing his cock. Humping like a dog, he selfishly lets the guy overindulge, chasing pleasure carelessly.

And then even  _ he _ can’t ignore how the room starts to go dark. 

“Harrington.” He moans feebly, wondering if his dick is what gets him killed. Here lies Billy Hargrove: he died trying to come in his pants. 

There’s a moment of actual fear before he feels the sharp retract of teeth from his skin and he hisses. 

“Shit, sorry.” Steve replies, wiping his mouth as he pulls away. “I didn’t mean to take so much, you just taste so good…” 

“‘m stronger.” Billy moans, eyes drooping closed. If he wasn’t so  _ hard _ , he’d probably be asleep in seconds but the ache of unsatisfied hunger keeps him floating, unconsciousness just out of reach. “My blood is probably stronger too.”

“Fuck, I took too much.” Harrington’s voice sounds panicked, afraid, and his weight shifts. 

But Billy clamps down on his waist with both hands, holds him on his lap. 

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.” He groans, rubbing his thumbs back and forth until the cotton t-shirt on Steve’s stomach is pushed away, revealing cool, bare skin to his touch. 

“You’re slurring your words.” The guy points out. 

Yet he doesn’t move. 

Neither of them do, apart from Billy’s thumbs. 

Up and down. 

Skin on skin. 

A few minutes pass, nothing but the sound of the television and the whir of the running furnace to fill the silence, and Billy keeps his eyes closed. Focuses on the beat of his heart. 

When it evens out, Steve seems to relax on his lap, his weight settling on his crotch. 

And once again he’s all too aware of his heartbeat. Down  _ south _ . 

“There’s Gatorade. You should drink some.” 

Billy opens his eyes and Steve is watching him, hands braced on the arms of the chair. He flexes, like he plans on moving, but Billy’s grip holds him fast. 

It’s never been easy, between them. In those few seconds, however, everything seems rather simple. 

They both  _ pine _ . 

Steve looks at him, examines his face like he’s looking for the truth, lips a rosy shade from the stain of Billy’s blood, which he shouldn’t find erotic but he can’t help thinking it’s the most human the guy’s looked in a  _ while _ . 

He looks flushed, almost, as their eyes connect. 

And Billy, well, he’s through talking. Asking. Worrying about the consequences.

He lifts his hips and drags their cocks against each other, a sigh falling from his lips as Steve grasps at the chair over his head, bears his weight down to start a rhythm. No words, no agreement. 

Just their bodies writhing in an overstuffed Lay-Z-Boy, the groan of leather and hard exhales from open mouths. 

All impulse, all  _ instinct _ , Steve rocks his hips hard, arms flexing beside Billy’s face as he moves, pushing and pulling and making the whole damn chair creak as he goes. He’s definitely bigger than a few weeks ago. Billy can see the cords of strength bulging from his chest, his shoulders. 

He’s not sure  _ why _ but Billy turns his head and bites down on Steve’s arm, sinking his teeth into the hard muscle as Steve lets out a hiss. 

And blows his load in his jeans.

It’s almost instant, the warmth that spreads across Billy’s crotch, heats him to the core. Which doesn’t really  _ clock _ , because Harrington isn’t alive. But then again, he’s full of werewolf blood.  _ Billy’s _ blood.

So maybe that’s why he barely gets a couple more rubs in before he’s filling his pants with come, bowing under the waves of pleasure that rock his limbs. 

He’s still shaking when the stain on Steve’s pants stops growing and the guy goes loose, hands fumbling to keep from collapsing on Billy’s chest. 

Not that he’d be able to do a thing about it. He’s barely able to think, let alone breathe or lift a huge dead guy off his body. The whole room smells like fresh jizz and Billy’s inhaling big mouthfuls of it, gulping the air greedily until his throat burns. 

“That was. Um.” Harrington keeps running his hands through his hair, looking down at Billy like he’s made a critical error. But Billy’s too tired to pretend. 

“You give good dry hump, Harrington.” He grouses, his arms slow to respond as he lifts them, pats Steve’s ass with both palms before he lets them fall again. “Fuck.” 

“So we’re...good. We’re okay?” Steve is watching him again. Calculating. “I didn’t...I don’t want to take advantage of...this.” 

“Jesus.” Billy uses what little coordination he has left to push Steve away, and he takes a little delight in watching Harrington flail before he lands on his feet. The idiot blinks at him like he’s missed something and Billy forces himself to stand. “Don’t overthink it.”

The kitchen feels like miles away, but he needs something to drink. Something to do besides focus on the cooling,  _ drying _ come in his jeans. 

“So you’re still an asshole, even when you get laid.” Steve grumbles. 

“That wasn’t sex, Harrington. That was…” He tears open the fridge. Looks for a red Gatorade, pushing through a shelf full of yellow because Harrington is the kind of fuckwad to only buy yellow. Who even drinks the yellow stuff anyway? “Stress relief.”

There’s a blue towards the back and he rolls his eyes, swipes it off the shelf and cracks off the lid.

“Stress relief.” Steve repeats. Billy gulps down the stupidly sweet flavor of whatever  _ blue _ Gatorade is supposed to be. Ice? 

Ice wasn’t a flavor last time he checked. 

“We just  _ came together _ .” 

Billy chokes, just a little. But enough. Enough to make Steve grin at him when he turns around. 

“Yeah, you’re full of shit.” Harrington adds. “You’re practically glowing.” There’s a glint in his eye, something gleeful enough that it makes Billy’s skin crawl. “Admit it, you’re happy.” 

It’s weird, how the statement is so ordinary and yet it makes Billy’s stomach flutter. 

“Fuck off, Harrington.” 

“I enjoyed it too.” Steve leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Freaking  _ smirking _ . 

“Shut up.” Billy snaps. He sets the half empty Gatorade on the counter and heads for the exit, trying to ignore the way his pants feel  _ gross _  and his heart is racing yet it's the best he's felt all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoppnhorn), [pillowfort](https://pillowfort.io/hoppnhorn) and [tumblr](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d never planned on letting someone watch. But when he wanders out to the woods, shivering from head to toe from the sheer  _ pain _ , he feels Steve’s there. Feels him watching, somehow. Like two ends of a magnet, his wolf calls out and Steve, filled with his very essence, knows only to follow. 
> 
> Billy doesn’t look for him between the trees. Doesn’t call attention to the fact that this will be  _ weird _ , will probably change everything between them. Like rutting against each other  _ didn’t _ do enough damage already. But this, his turn, will strip him of all dignity at Steve’s feet. 
> 
> There will be no way of hiding who he is when Steve sees  _ this _ . But he doesn’t have a choice, does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i keep writing this? oye.

The full moon  _ blows _ .

Turning feels like being turned inside out. It’s not some romantic thing like he lights up and suddenly he’s something that you pet at a zoo. No, one second he’s very human and the next he’s  _ still _ very human but it  _ hurts _ . 

Like, the kind of pain that makes ripping out your hair  _ appealing _ . Clawing at your own skin or jabbing your fingers into your eyes. When his bones are breaking and his teeth are falling out, there’s no controlling the misery. It’s not glamorous or mighty  _ at all _ . It’s lowers him to his most vulnerable, humiliating state, wallowing in the dirt as his body cracks, grows and changes. Nerves burning, Billy equates the turn to purgatory. Under the moon’s sway, he’s bound to a curse he didn’t choose. A damnation he didn’t earn. 

He’d never planned on letting someone watch. But when he wanders out to the woods, shivering from head to toe from the sheer  _ pain _ , he feels Steve’s there. Feels him watching, somehow. Like two ends of a magnet, his wolf calls out and Steve, filled with his very essence, knows only to follow. 

Billy doesn’t look for him between the trees. Doesn’t call attention to the fact that this will be  _ weird _ , will probably change everything between them. Like rutting against each other  _ didn’t _ do enough damage already. But this, his turn, will strip him of all dignity at Steve’s feet. 

There will be no way of hiding who he is when Steve sees  _ this _ . But he doesn’t have a choice, does he?

He shucks his shirt, ignoring the impulse to find Steve’s gaze in the dark. It’s  _ there _ . Lingering on him like a caress. He kicks out of his gym shorts, pulls off his socks and shoes and sets them aside neatly, shuddering as his body breaks out in a sheen of cool sweat. 

He’s naked, his breath turning the late night air a milky-grey as he stands in the clearing. Waiting, skin steaming, Billy wonders if he should say something. 

Maybe a warning. 

But the metallic taste of blood on his tongue tells him time is up. With a glance up at the moon, he flips the giant rock the bird, more for show than anything while his muscles go tight.

His back goes first. It always does, so he’s ready, arms out when he buckles forward onto his hands and knees, a grunt pushed from his chest. The pain is bright, spreading over his ribs and hips as his bones rearrange, break and grow and  _ mend _ until he can’t breathe without aching, without whimpering softly. 

Legs are next. And they’re always the worst. He tries to keep from screaming. But when his femurs snap like the branches of a tree, slicing pain renders him helpless and his pride breaks just like his bones. He screams, because he always does.

Deep, heavy shouts, wet like sobs but hard like he’s drowning. Dragging air into his lungs. His vision goes white for a moment, his eyes changing, nerves realigning. And vaguely, he senses distress in the air. 

_ Terror _ . 

His skin tingles and he digs his fingers into the dirt, waits for the burn of hair to burst through his skin. Thick and cruel like millions of needles. His voice cracks and his mouth aches, teeth growing, pushing his useless human molars out of his gums. He  _ bleeds _ and watches his white teeth fall to the dark earth like snow, listening to his blood splash on the damp ground. His jaw pops, skull going tight until his ears are ringing with pressure.

The rest is harder to feel, less like a process and more like the final flip of a switch. Snapping and grinding and agony is slowly replaced with dull aches and mild throbbing. Billy pants, listening to his breath, counting each beat of his heart. 

When his wolf rises, his consciousness surrenders. Like a handshake, one half embraces the other, the animal holding human upright, soothing. His mind quiets, slipping into its dormant state. 

And the beast takes hold.

 

 

Something smells like smoke when he comes to, too harsh against the smell of nature and dirt. Artificial and sickening. 

Steve’s sucking on a cigarette against a tree, watching him with eyes that glint, not human. Predatorial eyes. They follow him in the dark and he stares back, tracks them. 

The cold is slower to surface in his senses. He shivers and Steve’s eyes fall, somewhere around his chest before they rise again, find his face.

“Anybody home, Hargrove?” He asks, like a jackass. And Billy clamps down on his jaw, relishes the fresh throb of new teeth. Honestly, he’s fucking thankful he doesn’t have to experience the change back to human. He figures it’s probably worse, if the clumps of fur and flesh around his feet are anything kind of clue.

His wolf claws through his own hide to let Billy out. For that, he’s grateful. 

“Fuck you.” He grunts, his muscles shuddering as he tests out a leg. It’s brand new, really. The bones newly mended, stitched back to start. There’s a small wobble of hesitation in his thighs, like the weight of his body is pushing his limits, so he breathes hard, remains hunched on the ground. 

Counting his heartbeats. 

“Maybe if you asked nicer.” Steve says with a scoff, his breath not even grey in the dark. He’s cold, to the core. Well,  _ dead _ .

Like this, Billy can almost feel it -- the whispered warning in the air, the danger of things  _ unnatural _ \-- and, meanwhile, Steve just looks like himself. 

Jeans and some dumb t-shirt with a meme joke on it. Or something. Something Billy doesn’t actually understand because he doesn’t  _ actually  _ care.

“I need to eat.” Billy grunts, listing to one side as he presses against the ground and forces himself upright. It’s a task, but he feels his body leveling out. The pain lessening with each passing moment, establishing a baseline of normal. 

He almost feels human again when Steve steps closer, sniffs the air. 

“You smell like wet dog.”

And while he’s probably not  _ wrong _ , Billy isn’t really back to start on the whole  _ impulse _ spectrum so his reaction is a little  _ abrupt. _

Mostly, he just lashes out with a hand and grabs Steve by the neck, his palm squeezing hard around an adam’s apple that bobs uselessly as Steve struggles. Which, almost seems like a courtesy, because the guy doesn’t need to  _ breathe _ so much as he’s probably just  _ placating  _ Billy at this point.

Letting him pretend his strength counts or something.

“And you smell like roadkill.” Billy lies. Steve doesn’t smell like anything except the hint of Ralph Lauren Polo he’d sprayed on  _ that morning _ . But it’s weak and  _ if anything _ it’s clinging to his clothes. 

“I can hear your heartbeat, remember?” The dead dork grins, talking despite the lack of oxygen moving over his vocal chords.  _ Wheezing _ maybe. “You  _ like  _ how I smell.” 

And, well. 

Yeah. 

Billy takes pleasure in lifting Steve off the ground by the hand around his neck, pulling him closer like he’s nothing more than a rag doll. It’s fun, being able to actually  _ use _ his strength. He’s always keeping it in check, hiding it away.

Can’t walk around acting like Superman or he’ll wind up being run out of town by folks with pitchforks. 

But with Steve, he can let his nature take the reins. He can flaunt his incredible muscles, can grin and let his fangs extend. He might not be a  _ vampire _ but he’s a wolf under the moon’s sway and that shit makes things  _ different _ . 

He can see it reflected in Steve’s eyes. 

“Grandma.” The guy chokes, his discomfort finally starting to show as he claws at Billy’s hand to draw air into his lungs. “What big teeth you have.” 

Billy drops him with a snort, rolling his eyes when Steve cackles on the ground. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Um, that was a great joke.” On his back, Steve is smiling up at him, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. And for a moment, Billy forgets his stark naked and just looks down at him, studies the flawless complexion of Steve’s throat. 

Not a mark. 

“Did you stay the whole time?” He asks passively, fixated on Steve’s lack of pulse and not on the guy’s actual  _ face _ . It’s a weird enough question as it is without fucking  _ eye contact _ . 

“Not really.” Steve shrugs, sits up to hug his knees. “You sniffed around for a bit then took off. Came back though.” Billy still can’t quite meet his eye when Steve adds, “You watched me, let me get close.” 

The confession startles him out of his study and he finds Steve’s eyes, swallowing down a gulp of cold air. 

“Close?” 

“You let me, uh.” Steve motions with his hand, in a smooth motion. “Pet you.” 

Wrinkling his nose, Billy snorts. “I’m not a  _ dog _ , Harrington.”

“Well, that’s what happened, okay? You came close and let me pet your head.” Shrugging, Steve looks away, chews on a lip.

If Billy didn’t know any better, he’d say the guy was  _ embarrassed _ . 

“That all you pet, pretty boy?” He teases. And Steve laughs. 

Once, loud and hollow. 

“In your dreams, Hargrove.” When their eyes connect, Billy knows he’s not the only one who’s had a dream or two, not after a stare like that. Not after that  _ gaze _ . But Steve, like always, avoids. 

Sticks two fingers in his mouth to whistle  _ fucking loud _ and pat his thighs with both hands. 

“Come on, boy. I’ll drive you to McDonalds.” 

And, not for the first time, Billy wishes he could kill him.

 

 

“So you don’t remember anything, like at all?” 

It’s not the first time Steve’s asked the  _ same _ question and Billy’s just glad the guy paid for the twenty-dollars-worth of quarter pounders in the bag between them.

Not that they were  _ free _ or anything. Harrington feels like he’s earned the right to an interrogation. One that Billy has only slightly been able to avoid. 

By shoveling fries into his mouth between massive bites of burger. 

“No.” He grunts behind one such mouthful and slurps on whatever soda Harrington had chosen from the menu. Something citrus and aggressively electric green. 

“You ever kill anybody?” 

Harrington smokes with the window actually down -- only after Billy had threatened to rip his fangs out if he lit up in the midst of his  _ food _ .  

Like, who can smoke and eat in the same breath? 

Only a dead thing can mix the scents of ash and grease and call it palatable. 

“No.” He tosses an empty sandwich box at Steve’s head. The guy doesn’t even try to deflect it. 

“How can you be sure? If you don’t remember.”

“I would know.” Truthfully, he doesn’t  _ actually _ know but something in his gut says it’s true. He’s not a killer. Not  _ yet _ anyway, and he plans to keep it that way. 

“How—?”

“Jesus, I just would okay?” There isn’t enough bad fast food to numb the prickle of irritation that ripples up his spine. “What about you, huh?” Billy sits forward, lurching across the backseat of Steve’s car. “You ever gone off menu, Harrington? Go hunting for something a little more  _ sweet _ ?” 

Steve’s eyes narrow, like he actually has the nerve to be  _ insulted _ , after asking the same questions himself. 

“Trust me, I wish I could find someone else.” He mutters. 

And, like. Billy’s not expecting that to  _ hurt _ . 

But, deep down, he flinches. 

“Yeah, well. You  _ can’t _ .” He grunts, ripping open another box to dig at the food inside. He’s not even  _ hungry _ at this point. He’s eating out of obligation. 

So he doesn’t wake up at three in the morning and rip apart the kitchen looking for something to eat. 

Neil gets a little  _ touchy _ when Billy eats without permission. He can’t even gain a considerable amount of weight anymore, with his crazy metabolism, but his dad doesn’t know that. 

All it takes is dad seeing him eat sugary cereal  _ once _ , and calling him “fatty”, and Billy is six again, forcing himself into eating nothing but broccoli for a week. Working out twice a day.

“You overindulge, pretty boy, and someone dies.” He points out, blinking away the guilt as he swallows a heavy chunk of beef. “No passing go. No collecting $200. Dead.” 

“Yes, thank you, asshole. I know how dead works.” Steve hisses and the air in the car chills for a moment, the tension between them crackling. Billy catches a glimpse at the tips of fangs behind Steve’s upper lip and wonders what it’d feel like if the guy  _ pounced _ . “I was  _ killed _ by a vampire.” 

“You died in a warm bed, tucked in your egyptian cotton sheets.” Billy snarks. “Boo  _ fucking _ hoo. I had my throat nearly ripped out on a beach by a goddamn wolf. Not some asshole with a biting fetish.” 

Suddenly, it’s  _ funny _ , him listening to a baby vampire goddamn  _ complain _ when it’s been barely a month since Steve turned. 

Billy’s been on his own for  _ years _ . 

Turning alone, fighting his nature  _ alone _ , since he was fourteen. His chest fills with a heavy snarl and Steve flicks his cigarette out the window, sits up like he’s  _ actually _ going to fight back. 

“Well I’m sorry you have to turn into a monster  _ once _ a month, Hargrove. But I’m a monster every  _ fucking _ day.”

And then he bares his teeth, his lip peeled away from what hides beneath it. 

White, gleaming canines, jutting out from his gums, thick and  _ nasty _ . The kind of teeth designed for punching through flesh and pulling it off bone with ease. 

It should be frightening, maybe intimidating, but instead all Billy feels is awe. 

And desire. 

Which is well and truly  _ fucked up _ . 

“I have no control over myself. Over my hunger. It’s just  _ there _ .” Steve adds, before he sits back, yanks the pack of cigarettes off of the seat to light another. 

Like the burn of smoke in his lungs will sate his thirst or something. 

“You eat like a beast once a month.” Steve mutters. Flicks his lighter. “I could eat all day, every day and it wouldn’t be enough.” 

Billy watches him smoke, pouting, like the spoiled little rich kid he is, with his pretty hair and Bambi eyes. He thinks over a couple of lame replies, like  _ it’ll get better _ or  _ you’re doing great _ . 

But those are nice things. And Billy isn’t  _ nice _ . 

So he tosses his cheeseburger into a bag, rips his shirt over his head before Steve can say anything, and sits back against the door. Opens his arms wide.

“Come on then. Eat.” 

Steve’s eyes flare, pupils going so wide they look black across the car. 

“Don’t tease.” He mutters. Billy licks his lips, tilts his head. 

“Only tease here is you, Harrington. Come on.” Playing with fire, he burns. “Let the monster out.” 

He barely registers that Steve’s tossed his cigarette before there are  _ hands _ on him, in his hair and on his bicep, prying his head away from his shoulder to expose more of his neck like Steve’s trying to  _ pull him apart _ . 

And it  _ hurts, _ dammit, but Billy pants with the thrill of it while Steve straddles him, leans down to sniff at his throat. 

“You smell like spring.” He whispers against this skin. 

And before he can come up with a  _ reply _ , Billy is gasping at the power of Steve’s strike. His jaw clamps down hard, the skin tearing as Billy tries not to  _ whimper _ because,  _ fuck _ . 

It  _ hurts _ .

Something inside his subconscious is ringing for him to  _ run _ but his body is helpless at the invasion, Steve’s teeth digging deep while his weight traps Billy to the door, holds him inert. He has no choice to submit, to  _ hope _ that Harrington doesn’t kill him. Doesn’t drain him dry. 

Which would be fucking  _ hilarious _ . Like the guy could genuinely say Billy asked for it. 

And just as Billy starts to write his own obituary in his head, he feels something different, something lower on his body, moving and caressing. 

Harrington’s  _ hand _ , slowly pawing at his crotch. Just enough to coax a genuine moan of surprise from Billy’s lips and a little twitch of interest from his cock. 

“Don’t tease.” He whispers beneath the sound of Steve swallowing greedily, taking him down in hard pulls. 

When he stops, Billy almost cries out from the release. 

It feels like having his hair ripped out when Steve’s fangs leave his skin. His neck is no doubt  _ raw  _ and his shoulder is probably a goddamn  _ mess _ but then Steve’s there, suckling at the wounds until they close, coaxing them clean with laps of his tongue.

All the while, his cold hand has dipped beneath the waistband of Billy’s shorts and he groans when Steve grips him bare. 

“You were hard before I even started.” The guy whispers into Billy’s ear and like  _ sure _ , he should be embarrassed by his boner for getting jumped by a  _ dead guy with fangs _ but he’s not. In fact, he’s happy to overlook the whole  _ dead _ thing. 

Harrington’s got a killer hand job game, jerking him off fast and firm and getting him good and aching without too much trouble. Billy can’t help but groan, shifting his hips so he can rock, can thrust up into each stroke to get more  _ friction _ . 

“I think you might like  _ me _ .” Steve sighs as Billy’s cock weeps and wets his palm. “I think you might  _ want _ me.”

“In your dreams, Harrington.” He quips, lamely, because there’s no mistaking the urgency of his breath, the little noises from deep in his throat. “Fuck,  _ harder _ .” 

And, well. Harrington was always a good sport. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just need a taste, baby.” And Billy shouldn’t  _ like _ how the word slips out of Harrington’s mouth, like it’s familiar and normal and not at all telling. Like this hasn’t turned into something else. Something rabid and  _ needy _ . “Fuck, you’re so  _ warm _ .” 
> 
> Billy shivers, feels Steve’s arms tighten around him. He imagines a boa constrictor, coiling tighter and tighter around prey until the animal can’t breathe, can’t expand its lungs to bring in the precious air it needs. Only his boa is whispering sweet nothings in his ear, touching him gently. 
> 
> Steve is like a drug, cloying and pulling him under with lips to the shell of his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long, y'all. I'm thinking I've got one more in me.

He feels fucking  _ hungover _ when he shows up for school. Like the moon really took it out of him.

Or Steve took too much and his head is pounding because he’s running on empty. Which is more likely. Even with the near three thousand calories in fast food, he feels spread too thin when he hauls himself out of his car, drags his body into the school. 

He’s tempted to wear his sunglasses in class and he definitely  _ would _ if he wasn’t sure Mrs. Landry wouldn’t crucify him in the front of the whole classroom. 

Not that he gives a shit. But he really doesn’t want to listen to her  _ screech _ . 

Just like he’s not in the mood to hear someone intentionally  _ slam _ a locker right next to his head when he stands at his own, trying to remember what the fuck he needs out of the thing. Usually he can keep a handle on his reactions, things like  _ growling _ at people who piss him off. 

But he doesn’t hold in a good  _ snarl _ when he looks over his shoulder at the offender. 

And, of course, it’s Steve. 

Beaming at him, cheeks all rosey. The asshole.

“Are you fucking  _ stupid _ ?” Billy snaps, glaring at the idiot over his glasses. The stupid smile on Steve’s face slips, like he’s not sure what’s happening, and then Billy just. 

Can’t. 

He grabs a fistful of Steve’s shirt and pushes. Pins him to a locker. 

And the guy actually  _ gasps _ . 

“Woah. Down boy,  _ fuck _ . What’s your  _ deal _ ?” 

He’s about ready to recite a fucking  _ list _ when he’s suddenly being yanked by the back of his shirt, his head  _ pulsing _ like it’s about to explode, and he comes face to face with Nancy Wheeler. 

A very pissed off Nancy Wheeler. A sight he only gets a moment to take in before his face actually  _ rings _ from the flat of her palm. 

“Nancy!” Of all people, Steve is the one yelling, shoving his way between the slight girl and Billy, like he needs the protection from an onslaught of bitch slaps. Which he probably  _ does _ , if the pounding in his head keeps up. He can barely see straight, rubbing his face as Harrington’s back blocks his view. 

“He’s an  _ animal _ .” Billy hears Nancy hiss, and the laugh is out of his chest before he can stop it. Can gag himself from making a scene. He  _ howls _ with it, the ridiculousness in her choice of words. 

“You have no idea, sweetheart.” He purrs over Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t miss the way Nancy’s eyes flash, her gaze locked on him. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff…”

“We’re fine, Nance. He’s just, being Billy.” Steve’s saying over him, effectively cutting him off while Nancy glares. “I don’t need your  _ protection _ .”

“You sure?” Billy purrs, closer to Steve’s ear than he should, maybe, judging by the way Nancy’s eyes flare with recognition -- like Steve not pulling away, not  _ reacting _ to Billy’s proximity is a tell in itself. 

Which it probably  _ is _ , but Billy doesn’t care. He’s too drunk off the outrage on Wheeler’s face to care, starving for more. Maybe another slap, if he’s lucky. If he can push the right buttons. 

“Maybe you’re the princess, Harrington.” He adds, for  _ fun _ . And Steve sighs. Ignores him. 

“Seriously.” Steve says. “We’re good, Nance.”

“Steve, I can’t just let him  _ hurt  _ you.”

“He’s not hurting me, jesus.” Steve grumps and Billy can’t help but snort, even though it makes the pulse behind his eyes  _ throb _ . “And, again, don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.” 

There’s a tone in his voice, a hair shy of  _ angry _ , and Nancy’s face loosens, her expression slipping to one of surprise. 

Like, she  _ gets _ that Steve’s really over her. Finally. And the silence stretches. 

“Steve—”

“I’ll talk to you later.” He shuts her down in one swift sentence. Quick and clipped and  _ annoyed _ . Wheeler seems to get the message, finally, because she clutches her books closer, nods with a small dip of her chin. Then walks away, leaving them in the hallway with too many eyes trained on them. Waiting. 

“God, between you and Nancy...” Steve turns, rolling his eyes. “...my mood is  _ fucked _ .” 

“She slapped me, not you, asshole.” Billy mutters, grabbing his math book from his locker. He’s pretty sure it’s not what he needs but he really couldn’t care less. He just wants to get out of the fucking halls where everyone is scrutinizing him, wondering what he’s doing talking to Harrington. 

To the rest of the world, they aren’t even  _ remotely  _ friendly. Let alone whatever they are in private. 

_ Intimate _ . 

“Do I look like some kind of wimp or something?” Steve asks. And, like, Billy could totally make jokes, but there’s a look in Steve’s eye that says he probably shouldn’t. That Harrington is one bad joke away from popping fangs and sinking them into the first person that walks by. 

“She just wants you to need her.” Billy settles for instead, closing his locker. “She wants you to  _ miss  _ her.” 

Steve looks him over, like he’s searching for a seam in Billy’s words. A lie. But they both know there isn’t one to find. 

Wheeler is a greedy girl -- Billy knew it the moment he showed up in a Hawkins. Claiming the King but keeping Byers on the side. She wants what she can’t have  _ and  _ what she can. 

Cake and eat it too sort of thing.

“I’m hungry.” Steve blurts, pupils wide. 

Which is just  _ typical _ . 

“I need to piss.” Billy mutters. “And I go first.”

 

 

Steve’s nice enough to wait until Billy shakes it before he’s pressing up behind him, crowding him against the urinal. 

“God,  _ leech _ . Can I put my dick away first?” He grumbles, but Steve only laughs into his ear, slides his hands around Billy’s waist. Up under his shirt against the skin of his belly.

“Never been an issue before.” Steve says. His breath ghosts over Billy’s throat, the back of his neck. “But if you want, I could—’

Billy zips his pants, all too aware that at any moment there could be a knock at the door. An asshole teacher demanding the door be unlocked. 

“God you’re a slut.” He grunts, but Steve doesn’t let up. Only steps closer, envelopes him his smell, his presence.

“I just need a taste, baby.” And Billy shouldn’t  _ like _ how the word slips out of Harrington’s mouth, like it’s familiar and normal and not at all telling. Like this hasn’t turned into something else. Something rabid and  _ needy _ . “Fuck, you’re so  _ warm _ .” 

Billy shivers, feels Steve’s arms tighten around him. He imagines a boa constrictor, coiling tighter and tighter around prey until the animal can’t breathe, can’t expand its lungs to bring in the precious air it needs. Only his boa is whispering sweet nothings in his ear, touching him gently. 

Steve is like a drug, cloying and pulling him under with lips to the shell of his ear.

“Billy,  _ please _ .” It sounds like begging, but it’s permission. He wants a  _ yes _ , consent so he can penetrate and take and make Billy weak. Make him shudder in his arms. 

“You took too much yesterday. My head—”

“I won’t. I promise.” Steve kisses his throat, right where his pulse throbs beneath the surface. “I just need to taste you.”

“You fed last night.” Billy stalls. He wants to feed Steve, wants to keep him happy and purring against him like this, but his head still aches. His body  _ warning  _ him. 

“It’s  _ you _ .” Steve murmurs into his skin. With a broad stroke of his tongue, he licks across the surface. Makes Billy  _ sigh _ . “You make me  _ crazy _ .” 

“Is this about my blood?” Billy dares to ask, dares to  _ divert _ from their comfort zone. “Or is this about sex?” 

And instantly the mood changes. 

Instantly, Steve is drawing back, putting space between them. 

When he doesn’t  _ say  _ anything, Billy steps away, turns around so he can see Steve’s face. His eyes. Big and brown and filled with questions. Things he probably hasn’t fathomed, which is just  _ typical _ of fucking Harrington. 

Like, he’s been getting greedier and greedier to feed but hasn’t seemed interested in a simple wrist in days. Hasn’t been  _ content _ to simply take what he needs without pressing up against Billy’s back, rubbing a full cock into his ass like he wants to be  _ inside _ . 

“If you want to eat, eat.” He pulls back his sleeve to expose his forearm. 

And Steve just  _ stares _ . 

“You want me to…” He licks his lips, fangs in his way and so fucking  _ long _ that Billy knows his cock is full to match. Full and thick like his gleaming teeth. “...go back to your wrist?” 

“No.” Dropping his arm, he feels his cheeks grow warm. “I want you to quit thinking this is about feeding.” 

And Steve just blinks at him. All pretty and shocked and  _ dumb _ . 

Billy’s fucking  _ tired _ . 

“You’re not  _ just  _ a vampire, idiot.” He grumbles. “You’re an immortal teenager with a dick.” That doesn’t seem to help things because the furrow in Steve’s brow only gets bigger, like the train just  _ won’t _ arrive at the station unless Billy actually  _ spells it out _ . “You’re  _ horny _ , Harrington. Not hungry.”

Steve’s face goes slack, the pieces falling into place, and Billy actually feels bad for him. All the new parts of him confusing the old. Like, he understood his impulses before, got his dick sucked when he needed it. But feeling endlessly hungry only to understand it was never hunger to begin with? It’s probably jarring. Confusing. 

And suddenly Billy wonders if Steve actually ever wanted  _ him.  _ Or if he was just convenient. 

The thought makes him feel hollow inside, broken. And he really doesn’t feel like standing in a bathroom anymore, trapped with his thoughts and a tongue-tied Steve. 

“I’ve got class.” He mutters, clicks the lock on the door open -- gets out before it’s too hard to leave. Something inside him wants to soften the blow, to tell Steve he  _ likes _ having a horny vampire at his throat, begging and sweet. But that borders on too much. Too close to vulnerable. So he says, “I’ll be at your place later.” 

And goes. 

 

 

He shows up to the house later than usual, which probably only gives away how nervous he is about the whole thing. Which is  _ stupid _ . 

This is  _ Harrington _ . 

Half the time, Billy doesn’t even like him. He’s ditzy and spoiled and annoying. But he’s also soft. And kind. Dead.

And totally  _ fucking  _ hot. 

And about an hour passed his regularly scheduled meal. So. He’s probably  _ hungry _ . For blood this time. Hangry, which is  _ great. _

But Billy’s not the least bit surprised when Steve doesn’t answer the door. He knocks a few times, the last a little more impatient, before he hears low  _ fuck off _ from somewhere in the bowels of the house. 

Which maybe he deserves. He’s probably ruined this for both of them, somehow. And now whatever delicate thing, whatever  _ relationship _ , they had is in shambles. 

“You need to eat, Harrington. Don’t be an idiot.”

This time he doesn’t wait, he pushes into the foyer, the door unlocked like it always is, like Steve is tempting fate in hopes that some human will stumble into his house. 

Try to rob him and maybe die for their mistake.

“Hey asshole, don’t make me come find you.”

“I said  _ Fuck. Off. _ ” Steve growls, but his voice is easy to pinpoint in the house, which is exactly what Billy had  _ wanted _ so he snorts, saunters towards the back den. 

Then promptly freezes when he gets a look at the  _ room _ . 

Just like the carpet throughout the Harrington house, the den is a sea of some peachy monstrosity, thick and plush. The  _ expensive _ kind of carpet for digging toes into and squishing with heels. 

And it’s a goddamn shame, because there’s a big pool of red in the middle of it all. Which will  _ never _ come out. 

Sitting in a recliner, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, Harrington looks up, his mouth turned down in a sad little pout.

“Jesus.” Billy whispers, pulse in his throat, and Steve just stares at him. Runs a hand through his hair. “What  _ happened _ ?” 

“I threw up.” Steve mumbles, hands over his face, his mouth, like he wants to take the words back. That’s when Billy spots the decanter, the top off and discarded on the table beside it. 

“Jesus.” Billy repeats, because it’s the only thing he can really think to say with what’s sitting in front of him. 

The mess isn’t colored right, like bile, or even amber to match the booze. It’s bright  _ goddamn  _ red. Like Steve pounded a red slurpie from a gas station and then projectiled all over the floor. 

“I never throw up.”

“Well, how much did you drink?”

Steve points at the glass, still sitting on the table, and it’s mostly full. Barely looks like the guy got a sip in. 

“Maybe a fucking  _ mouthful _ .” 

And, well, judging by the amount of  _ whatever _ is all over the carpet, Billy can’t help but swallow. Blink a few times. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah  _ shit _ .” Steve hisses, running his fingers through his hair again. “I can’t drink. I can’t  _ fucking drink _ .”

It’s almost  _ funny _ , how pathetic Steve looks. And Billy can’t  _ help it _ . He snorts. And when Steve looks up, he’s glaring. Fangs actually extended, like he’s planning on ripping off Billy’s face. 

“You’re a dick.”

“You’re  _ dead _ .” Billy laughs again. “What  _ exactly _ did you think would happen, when your body doesn’t actually  _ function _ ?” 

“Fuck you.” The guy hisses, and Billy rolls his eyes. 

“How do you think I beat your keg stand record on my first try?” 

And like, Steve actually goes quiet, staring. Lips slowly sliding back over his teeth. But he doesn’t put shit together, which is just the  _ theme _ of the day. So Billy plucks the discarded glass off the table and drains it in a heartbeat, ignoring the way the liquor burns the whole way down his throat. 

For a moment, he can feel it hot and cold in his belly, swirling. Angry.

But the sensation dissipates. Fades into nothing but warmth. 

“Are you trying to rub it in or what?”

“I heal from your bites in minutes, do you really think my liver can’t handle whatever you hicks put into kegs?” He wipes his mouth, already feels the rush in his veins settling. His body evening out. “You can’t drink, I can’t get drunk.” The glass is loud on the table when he sets it down. “So what?”

“So I _ needed _ a drink.” Steve grouses, hanging his head. His hair doesn’t seem any longer than it had been months ago, but Billy wonders if it will continue to grow. Or if it will always be the same length, frozen in time. 

“You  _ need _ to eat.” Billy says, as gently as he can, even though Steve scoffs and make this  _ face _ . “You’re  _ weird _ when you’re hungry.” 

“Hungry or horny?” Steve asks, but the way he  _ says _ it means he’s sore about the whole thing and, well. 

Billy deserves it. 

“I’m saying this once, so pay attention.” He says low, precise. “I am the only one who can feed you in this stupid town. You don’t have other options for food.” It’s sort of like stating the obvious but Billy feels like it needs to be said anyways. “But if we start messing around…” He sees the way Steve swallows, like their minds are in sync, going back to the bathroom when Steve had been at this throat, rubbing against his back. Begging. Whispering things into Billy’s ear. 

It’d been so fucking  _ tempting _ to just let him have what he wanted. So fucking  _ hot _ . 

“You saying you don’t want to ruin our great friendship?” Steve mutters and Billy wrinkles his nose. 

“No dickhead. I’m saying if we start  _ fucking _ and that goes sideways, feeding you will be awkward as fuck.”

Suddenly Steve has nothing to say and that is just  _ fine _ . Billy doesn’t really have anything else to say anyway.

Pulling off his jacket, he thrusts an arm at Steve’s face and flexes, lets the muscles in his forearm pop because he’s actually kind of  _ pissed _ that his face is heating up. Mad and flustered and all kinds of exposed, wishing he hadn’t actually said--

“Fucking?” Steve says, staring up at him with his big eyes and rosy lips. He’s  _ hungry _ and his stupid predator body is lighting up, making him look so appealing when he should be anything but  _ appealing _ to anyone with half a brain. Anyone with blood running in their veins.  _ Prey _ . 

“Just—” Billy waves his arm and Steve catches his wrist, his fingers cool on his skin. 

“You said  _ fucking _ , Hargrove.”

“Yeah, I know what I said, I fucking  _ said it. _ ” When Steve doesn’t move to drink, to do anything except hold him in place and stare up at him with his bambi blinking eyes, Billy tries to pull away. But Steve holds him fast. “Wha—”

“Do you want that?” 

He asks, like it’s not the million dollar question. 

Taking a deep breath, Billy closes his eyes, wills his heart to slow the hell down. Like,  _ down boy _ . But it’s all a fucking farce anyway. Steve can  _ hear _ him, can probably smell the fresh sweat breaking out all over his body. 

“I want to feed you.” 

He’s not expecting Steve to stand, to push in close enough that Billy can the smattering of freckles on the bridge of Steve’s nose. Could count them if he wanted. 

“And you want to fuck me.” 

Not a question, really. And that’s just  _ a lot _ for Billy to contradict. Not that he  _ wants to _ but like, he should. It’s really so messy admitting that. Admitting that he likes it. 

Admitting he wants Steve on top of him feeding and fucking  _ him _ , taking what he wants. 

“Jesus, you do.” Steve whispers before he’s at his neck, sucking at Billy’s pulse and dragging his goddamn fangs over his vein. But not biting, not hurting. Teasing,  _ playing _ . “Fuck, Hargrove. Your blood smells so fucking  _ good _ when you’re hard.” 

“Christ.” He pants, helplessly pliant as Steve leaves a trail of kisses over his skin, over his jaw and chin. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?” Steve asks, his words ghosting over the surface of Billy’s lips. “You make me hungry and horny and I just want to…” His voice trails away, eyes latching onto the deep inhale Billy pulls through his teeth. 

“You can fuck anyone, it doesn’t have to be me.” 

It’s a feeble attempt at deflecting, but feeble as it is, his heart squeezes in his chest. Hurts at the thought. 

“Shut up.” That’s all Steve grunts before their mouths meet and Billy  _ tries  _ not to moan, all too aware that this is their first kiss, and it tastes sweeter than he thought. Nothing like he’d imagined.  _ Better  _ than he’d ever hoped.

King Steve knows how to  _ kiss _ . Like a smooth criminal, he’s licking into Billy’s mouth and taking control, holding him by the head to tilt him just so. To have Billy open and breathless. 

“You want this?” The guy asks, tickling his fingers over the soft spot of Billy’s neck, just below his jaw. Which  _ yeah _ , they’ve never done  _ this  _ before but the way he asks has Billy shivering, throat suddenly dry when he tries to speak.

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” Steve smiles against his cheek, presses a little peck to the surface. “Way to sound  _ sure _ .” 

“Don’t be an asshole.” 

“Don’t get  _ pissy _ .” Steve purrs, his mouth drifting low, pressing soft against Billy’s throat. “I’ll give you what you want as soon as I’m fed.”

“Like you don’t want it too.” Billy manages to retort, despite the whisper of fangs against his skin, lifting goosebumps all over his body. “Bet you’re full mast, blood sucker.”

“Mmmm so are you. I can  _ smell it _ .” Steve whispers, over Billy’s collarbone, his adam’s apple until they were face to face. “How should I defile you,  _ darling _ ?” 

“Ugh.”

Steve’s laugh is real and bright in his eyes when he presses their foreheads together. 

“Why do I even  _ like _ you?” He asks. Then seals their mouths, sucking on Billy’s tongue with greedy pulls. Like he’ll drink from his neck, Billy knows. Greedy and hard until bruises rise to the surface. 

Thank god he heals so goddamn fast. 

Thank god he has two brain cells to rub together, pulling away just as spots start to dart across his vision. 

“Dude, some of us still need to  _ breathe _ .” He murmurs, panting lightly as Steve grins at him, lips so red he looks freshly fed.  _ Alive _ . 

“Oops.” Steve chuckles softly and Billy rolls his eyes, steps away. When he lifts his shirt, pulls it over his head to toss it aside, Steve’s gaze is laser focused on his skin. His pupils so wide and fat they look black. 

Yet he doesn’t advance, watching without moving. Like a shark behind glass. 

Billy would be unnerved if he didn’t feel an undercurrent of lust, a rhythm growing between them. Whatever impulses his animal instincts provide are overridden by the desire in his chest, squeezing his ribs and warming his belly. 

“Here.” Steve finally speaks, his voice throaty and low. Billy shrugs, tries to deflect the nerves tingling in his fingertips. 

“Whatever—”

Steve springs at him like an attack and Billy jumps; but he’s held in firm arms, head in both of Steve’s hands. 

“I want to feed from you and fuck you  _ right here _ .”

Billy tries not to whimper, even though the sensation fills his lungs, makes his heart stutter in his chest. In an attempt to keep from falling to his knees, begging to be fucked hard like a  _ slut _ , he scoffs. 

“How  _ romantic _ , Harrington. I mean, the smell of puke is just, so  _ hot _ .”

“You’re such a  _ whiner _ .” Steve groans. Then kisses him. Soft but full of intention. “Fine, come on.” He tugs Billy by the arm, hand sliding down his skin until their hands tangle, fingers intertwined. 

More intimate than kissing, really. Steve’s cold palm in his clammy one, his nerves on full display. 

And maybe the intention had been for them to wind up in a bedroom, or maybe the couch. But they never make it there. They barely make it out of the den because Billy can't help but be sort of a dick as his heart rabbits in his chest, filled to the brim with excitement -- a kid at Christmas. 

He’s gotta say  _ something _ . Like he usually does.

"You gonna deflower me in your bed, sweetheart?" 

And with that, Steve pushes him hard against a wall, just enough for a sting of pain but not much more, and then he's  _ on him _ , breathing against Billy's throat and tearing at his jeans. 

"Take off your  _ fucking _ pants, smart ass." 

"In a hurry?" 

The way Steve's eyes  _ flare _ makes the animal in Billy shiver. It might be Harrington looking back at him, but the monster in his eyes is a threat. A  _ beast _ . 

Part of Billy knows what he's doing is at least  _ mostly _ a mistake. The rest of him doesn't goddamn  _ care _ .

"Get them  _ off _ ." Steve growls and their fingers tangle on Billy's fly opens, his jeans shucked down his thighs the moment they're freed. And Billy reaches for Steve's waist, eager to make him just as  _ naked _ , but his hands are redirected. Pushed aside as Steve ducks away.

Then  _ lowers _ onto his knees. 

"What are you--" 

"I'm  _ hungry _ ."

And like,  _ normally _ Billy wouldn't complain about Steve getting on his knees but when it comes to fucking  _ feeding _ Billy isn't sure he wants his cock so  _ close _ . 

Steve cradles it, gently like it's not already as solid as steel, and gives his length a slow stroke. Almost testing, like he thinks Billy will bolt. Like a frightened animal. 

Which, deep down, he really  _ is _ but under the steady pressure of Steve's palm, Billy goes slack against the wall. Groans at the sight at his feet. 

"There's an artery here." Steve points, running his finger across the inside of Billy's hip. Over the tender skin of his inner thigh. "I had a dream about biting you here, drinking from you as I touched you like this." He purrs. "Making you come while I fed." 

" _ Fuck _ ." Billy sways, even though his shoulders sit sturdy against the wall. "Steve."

"I want all of you." Steve breathes against his stomach, brushes a kiss to the surface. "I want to be  _ drunk _ on you." Billy's cock kicks in Steve's fist, already so eager he probably wouldn't need much more before he'd spill out over Harrington's long, crafty fingers. A single, crystal tear of precome bubbles at this head and Steve laps at him. 

"Stop  _ teasing _ ." Billy whines. 

Steve's laugh is warm against his thigh. 

"What is it they say? When they're about to stick you at the doctor?" He kisses the skin at Billy's groin, wet and a little cold. "Little poke." 

Before Billy can even ask what the  _ hell _ that even means, he catches the glint of teeth and he gasps as Steve bites him, piercing the sensitive flesh with razor precision. 

"Shit." He hisses. But Steve strokes him, compensates his pain with pleasure, thumbing at the sensitive underside of his cockhead. The duality of sensation is terrible and wonderful, making him moan and reach down. 

Steve's hair is soft like silk in his fingers. 

"Don't take too much." He whispers, petting gently as Steve sucks, pulling hard. "I need it too ya know." 

Acknowledging him, finally, Steve moans and the flat of his tongue slides over the punctures in Billy's skin. Encouraging them to close as his hand speeds over Billy's length. 

"Turn around." He hums when the wounds close over, dark eyes raised to find Billy's own. "I want you." 

And, for once, Billy enjoys being bossed around, flipping onto his belly against the wall without batting an eyelash, hands splayed at his sides. When Steve steps in behind him, he feels almost  _ warm _ . 

"You taste wonderful. Wanna try?" 

Before he can say  _ anything _ , there's a hand at his throat, turning his head so Steve can take his mouth too. Harshly, he kisses him, seeking out his tongue until Billy can  _ taste _ iron. 

Metallic and heady, it's nothing he hasn't tasted before -- after a good fight, nose bleeding into his teeth. He's tasted his own life before, but on Steve's lips it's something wholly different. 

It's dangerous and  _ wrong _ and yet, delicious. 

The moan from his lungs is a wheezing thing,  _ pathetic _ and Steve devours it. Replies with one of his own, rocking a full cock into Billy's bare ass. 

"Steve." He pants, needy and a little bit like a grunt, and pushes back against the hard erection between his cheeks. "Goddamn."

The whisper of cloth against skin makes him pant, turning to  _ see _ , and a moan escapes his lips -- the sight of Steve’s cock, pink at the tip and  _ fat.  _ Fat and long and every bit the  _ monster _ Billy desires.  He can only bring himself to look away when a cool hand slides over his skin, squeezing his ass, spreading him. 

"Your spit or mine,  _ darling _ ?" Steve purrs in his ear and nicks it with his fangs. Always a  _ game _ , just out of reach from what they  _ crave _ .

"Yours." Billy breathes, eager when he feels the fucker  _ smiling _ against his cheek. Kissing him tenderly before he's spitting into a hand and lowering it to prod against Billy's rim. 

A little pressure, a little stroking, more spit and obscene slick down his crack. Steve dips a finger inside, only to pull down to open him. Just a tease. No real  _ depth _ . Which is what Billy needs more than air and Steve  _ knows _ it. He lets a breath out between his teeth, drops his head back on a strong shoulder as Steve plays with him. 

Strokes him from the inside with the tip of a finger. 

"In a hurry?" He asks into the shell of Billy's ear, a genuine  _ asshole _ . And Billy lets out a husky, dry laugh. 

"Fuck me, you  _ dick _ \--" 

The tip of a finger turns into a full thrust of two and Billy arches, moans like a  _ whore _ and rocks back for more. 

More more  _ more _ , his heart screams. 

And more Steve gives him. Three pushes of his fingers until Billy can taste his own orgasm, welling up in his mouth. 

"Not yet." Steve kisses his throat. 

Then the bastard  _ bites _ . 

Pain and pleasure dance behind Billy's eyes, so much so he can barely breathe when a weight presses to his hole, penetrates him without warning. 

The sensation of being full, being  _ filled _ , makes him writhe while Steve laps at his neck. Kisses away the blood that leaks from the bite. It’s a feeling unlike any other. Ringing at every nerve ending, weak and breathless in the arms of the one responsible. Billy doesn’t know how he’s still standing at all when Steve starts to move, starts to fuck him deep while he feeds lazily at his throat. 

It’s everything he’d ever wished for and yet sinfully better. Sharp and exquisite and overwhelming. He’s not sure if he wants to scream or moan, his body singing like an exposed nerve. 

He comes like that, in Steve’s arms, legs spread and hole stretched as he’s fucked senseless, leaving a thick puddle of come in the carpet between his feet. And he knows he should feel bad.

It’s  _ expensive  _ carpet.

Instead, Billy gets a hand in Steve’s hair, pulls at the roots so he can get a look at him, bring them face to face. 

“ _ Harder _ .”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months ago, Steve Harrington died. Billy secretly knows it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to either of them.

“I got you something.”

At this point, he’s used to Steve presenting him with food like he’s some kind of Greek god of the Harvest, but the little blue box that has been unceremoniously dumped onto his lap -- through the driver’s side window of his _car_ where anyone could see, which _is awesome_ \-- is not a slab of meat. Or a bouquet of roses so he’s counting his _blessings_.

But it’s not just a box, either.

It’s a _Tiffany’s_ box.

Like, the kind that has a man taking out loans in order to get on one knee and make big mistakes. So it takes him a minute to even comprehend what the fuck he’s looking at when he plucks the thing off his thigh.

“No.” He says, husky and mean, as he looks up at Harrington, who’s leaning against the outside of his car door with a stupid fucking _grin_ on his face.

“No what?” His smile only slips a little and that’s all the reward Billy needs. Just a little speck of confusion on Steve’s dumb face.

“I’m not the marrying type, Harrington.” He says, just honestly enough that Steve actually looks disappointed. If only for a moment. But then the guy is rolling his eyes and scoffing.

“It’s not— jesus just open it, you asshole.”

And like, normally he would give Steve more shit and keep it going, see how long he can go before he’s got Steve’s fly popping and pupils dilated. If there’s one thing he _knows_ about this thing with Harrington, and it’s they _get each other going_.

It’s good, which is downright scary.

The kind of good that makes Billy think it might not explode in their faces after all. That is, until Steve starts doing shit like buying him jewelry.

“If this is a diamond, I’ll never speak to you again.”

In hindsight, if it was a diamond, he probably would have snorted and blown Steve in the backseat of his car.

Instead, when Billy opens the box, he wonders if maybe he’s being _punished_ for something in passed life. Rolling his eyes, he reaches over and pushes Steve away by the face, then puts the engraved key and keychain in his pocket.

  


It’s pure luck that Underworld is on TNT when Billy’s flipping channels later, sprawled across the larger of the two sofas in the Harrington living room with a Harrington sprawled across _him._ Plucking at his nipples through his shirt like chord on a harp.

Because Steve is a shit like that.

But then he gets a look at Kate Beckinsale in all her leather-clad glory, and sits up, leaving Billy a little less warm despite the guy not having a pulse.

And Billy would be jealous, if he was a _moron_. Which he isn’t. He sees the way Steve’s eyes go wide, rapt, but not from attraction or arousal. Interest of a different kind, stemming from the way Kate has pretty little pointed fangs glued to the expensive veneers on her teeth.

They don’t even _begin_ to compare to the choppers in Steve’s mouth but Billy figures the guy’s never watched Underworld before -- because Harrington has absolutely no exposure to anything even remotely campy which is _tragic_. Steve just seems so innocent when he murmurs, “Hey, can we watch this?”

Like they aren’t already _watching_ it.

“It’s your house, Harrington, Jesus. What am I gonna do, say no?”

“Yeah.” Steve snorts. “You would.”

Which is entirely possible.

“Didn’t figure you for the Romeo and Juliet type.” Billy grunts, settling further into the cushions as Steve whirls on him, expression set to _scandalized_.

“What?”

“Underworld.” Billy says simply, knowing full well Steve _doesn’t_ get it and won’t until he elaborates but, that’s sort of half the fun with him.

He’s easy to confuse.

“It’s Romeo and Juliet, but instead of two families, it’s werewolves and vampires.” Billy summarizes, grinning as the pieces click into place and Steve’s expression shifts to something along the lines of _oh_. “And guns. There’s a lot of shooting in these movies.”

“Does that mean...we should be mortal enemies?” Steve asks, a mischievous grin on his face. “Tragically doomed to never be together.”

“Oh my god, you actually know the _plot_ of Romeo and Juliet?” Pressing a palm to his chest, Billy gasps. “Incredible.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not if you don’t ask nicer.” Which is a downright _lie_ . Billy would roll over and beg for Steve’s cock and they both know it. But Harrington doesn’t ever _say_ that.

He just knows. And he’s _actually_ sort of a gentlemen. Like, who knew?

“Billy.” Steve says his name, now, often. Not Hargrove and it’s _weird_ to like it but he _does_. When he looks up at Steve’s big, dopey face, he holds back a smile.

No need to give himself away.

“What, Stevie?” He purrs, sarcastically sweet. And Harrington’s pupils glitter _black_.

“I’m _hungry_.”

  


Feeding in bed is nothing like before, when they’d started. First with the sterile wrist donations and then with the horny grind of their bodies, mouths open and wanting.

In bed, it’s something worse. It’s _gentle_. Intimate.

Steve at his throat in the sheets, their bodies connected as he feeds and fills in one moment, is more _close_ than anything. Like Billy’s pulse has filled Steve’s veins, brought him back to life.

Sometimes Billy forgets to leave his guard up. Forgets that he shouldn’t let Steve all the way in.

Shouldn’t whisper Steve’s name until he has no breath left to give.

  


“I’m not going to age.” Steve says, after, his cheek pressed to Billy’s sweaty chest. It’s weird, how he’s always dry. At least, that’s what Billy thinks, that it’s _weird_. But he sweats enough for the two of them so it doesn’t make much of difference in the end. “I’m going to look eighteen for the rest of my life.”

Billy thinks about it, fingers in Steve’s hair.

It does grow, he knows that now. One of the few things he knows still _works_ in that body of his. Like his cock. As endowed as Steve is, it’s nothing less than fucking _magic_ that his dick hasn’t gone to waste. For a man with no pulse, it’s a baffling miracle.

“Is that really such a bad thing?” Billy murmurs, fighting the urge to scoff at something that Steve _clearly_ has been pondering. Probably for days before saying anything.

“Well _yeah_ . I can’t look the same for ten years without someone _noticing_.”

Billy hums, considering. And he can see it. Can see Steve with his glowing youth while Billy starts to change. His skin growing tougher, wrinkles setting in.

And what’s shocking is that the thought makes his gut goes cold, tight. It _hurts_ because suddenly he’s imagining Steve without him.

“What?” Steve says aloud and Billy tries to slide out from under his bulk. “What just happened—?”

“I need to piss, Christ. You’re like a _woman_ .” Billy grumbles, but Steve’s hands pin him down on the mattress, his weight settling over him fast. And like a proud _idiot_ , Harrington straddles his waist and stares into his face.

“Your heart did that thing.”

“Beating?” Billy snaps. “Sorry for having a heartbeat—”

“It _sped up_ , smartass. God, do you even _do_ afterglow?” Steve is smiling, despite grabbing Billy by the jaw to force eye contact. His grip is fucking _strong_ , which only emphasizes the point. How Steve will only get faster, better, and Billy will fade. He wants to hide the way it makes him feel hollow inside, but Steve sees it. He always does. “You’re upset.”

“You’re being an asshole.” Billy snarls, bucking under Steve’s weight and not _missing_ how the guy’s eyes are bright with awareness. Which only seems to piss him off more.

“Come on, talk to me.” He says it like it’s nothing, rocking his hips. And even though Billy wants to be _mad_ , or at the very least _annoyed_ , his pulse leaps again. Because Steve’s straddling him. Rubbing his ass against Billy’s soft cock.

It’s far too close to an invitation.

“I just.” He swallows and his throat clicks, so goddamn _loudly_ . “I just figure you’ll have to move on when you start to look too young.” Billy mutters. It’s torture, having Steve on his lap, holding him down on the bed so he has nowhere to _go_ when his chest is open and oozing, his insecurity all over his face.

And Steve just fucking _blinks_.

“Well. You’d come with me, right?” Harrington says quietly, his hands brushing gently over Billy’s chest. Over his stomach. “I mean. I thought....” Then suddenly it’s _Steve_ who’s looking away.

What little color he has from feeding goes to his cheeks and Billy’s stomach flip flops.

Because he _gets_ it. The finality of saying something like “we” is just a little too soon but they both _know_ it’s the truth.

They feel it, like a vibrating tone that hums in their bones.

This thing is a “we” thing now. It’s an “us”.

“I want to go with you.” He says, hands on Steve’s thighs. He’s perfect up there, perched on his hips like something out of a dream. Especially when he smiles. Slow and shy. And then _beaming_.

“Yeah?” Steve breathes.

“Yeah.” He sort of mumbles, before giving Steve’s ass a little slap. “Who else is gonna protect the general public?”

With a cute wrinkle of his nose, Steve snorts.

“Oh yes. Such courage. What sacrifice.” And with a tilt of his hips, the guy _slides_ his crack over Billy’s hardening cock, ripping away any attempt at a retort. “However do you manage?”

“ _Fuck.”_ He moans eloquently, flexing his fingers to dig just the tips of his nails into Steve soft skin.

“Please.” His lover moans, lifting his body just enough that Billy can _see_ when he licks his fingers and uses them to wet his ass. Which, he wouldn’t ever had imagined seeing from _Harrington_ , the priss that he is -- with his high thread count sheets and warming lube. But Steve spits on his own hand and slicks up Billy’s cock like it’s the _usual._

“ _Shit_ , Harrington.” Billy curses when the head of his cock is popped into Steve’s hole with little to no preamble. Urgent and greedy, the blood sucker leans back and his weight sinks him down down _down_ , somehow impossibly _warm_. They join, sharing a heartbeat, Billy keening and Steve pushing him to the bed, the flex in his hips working them both to a frantic rhythm.

“Billy...” Steve’s lip bulges, the muscles in his arms straining. His fangs gleam, shiny with spit as they protrude from his mouth and Billy arches up, offers his neck willingly, easily.

So contrary to the first time. Not taken, given. Not painful, thrilling.

Maybe those horny vampire novels were onto something.


End file.
